A Little Bit of Magic
by erikjavert24601
Summary: Christine returns to keep her promise to a dying Erik, and a miracle follows upon the heels of a tragedy. Angsty and phluffy!


Christine sighed with mixed emotions as she prepared for bed, her fingers deftly plaiting her long golden hair.

Partly, she sighed with regret, regret at losing Raoul. She had some home early one night to find him in bed with a prostitute, and it had been over. Erik would never do something like that to her; his love was so pure and strong. And she sighed with remorse that she had caused Erik so much pain, for so worthless a person as Raoul. She had realized just how much Erik had loved her when he gave her back the ring and let her go, asking only that she return if she reconsidered. And she had given him her word.

She also sighed with happiness. As she lived without Erik, she began to realize how much she missed him. Now she was finally returning to him, and the thought made her deliriously happy. Raoul cared nothing for music and couldn't even carry the simplest of tunes. Erik had allowed her to embrace the music and they had both cherished the magical way in which their voices had joined in perfect soaring harmonies. And Erik was always so gentle with her. His touch was chaste and delicate, as if he were afraid she would break beneath is. Raoul, while he had never abused her, had never been so respectful toward Christine. Erik needed her love. Raoul (obviously) did not. She was the only person who had loved Erik for himself, who had been able to see the man beneath the mask, although it had taken her far too long to do so.

That night she dreamed. She dreamed she was on the stage at the Opera Populaire. She was the prima donna, the diva! Singing her heart out in front of an audience who loved her and gave her a standing ovation at the end of her performance. Then the show was over, and she was in her dressing room waiting for Erik. She waited for what seemed like hours, and still Erik didn't come. Something was wrong, Erik never kept her waiting, not even when he was working on his _Don Juan Triumphant _

She went to her mirror opening it and walking through the secret passages that led to the lake, and to Erik's home. Despite the low ceiling, Christine seemed to be floating, drifting speedily down the passage that would, she hoped, lead her to Erik, her Angel, her love.

She came to the lake and, though there was a boat tied to the dock on the near side, she continued to float along, her bare toes not quite skimming the water. When she reached the middle of the lake, the invisible force pulling her stopped, leaving her suspended there, bobbing slightly up and down.

What was she supposed to be doing here? She peered into the grey darkness before her in an attempt to spy the opposite shore of the lake. Barely, just barely, she thought she could make out a figure through the gloom. Her vision sharpened and the figure became clearer in what could only have been an effect of the dream. Clearer though it seemed, the figure was still too obscure for Christine to make out specific details. She could tell the figure was a man by his stature and the breadth of his shoulders. He was stumbling about aimlessly, as if drunk. Again, something was wrong, Erik ( for that is who she knew the man to be) never drank, and would never be so careless of discovery, he was always so stealthy and elegant.

She watched him for what seemed like ages, yearning with all her heart to go to him, to be with him, to beg his forgiveness for his foolishness. Yet the force which had propelled her thus far now held her rooted (so to speak) to the spot.

"Erik…" she whispered, her eyes quickly misting.

Suddenly, as if he could hear her voice, he stopped, trembling with sobs and the effort to remain standing.

"Christine…" he moaned quietly, weakly. And he collapsed unconscious to the cold hard ground.

***********

Christine awoke with a cry, trembling for fear that the dream could be true. The feeling of the dream was a portentous one, unlike any dream she had ever had. And with the dream had come a certainty. The events of the dream were real.

Pausing a few seconds until she stopped gasping for air, she scrambled out of her bed and fled the house in her nightshift, distress for Erik driving all thoughts of modesty from her mind. She paused not even to put on her shoes, and thought the cobblestones ripped at the soles of her feet, her love for Erik dulled the pain.

Being preoccupied while preparing for bed that night, she had neglected to fasten her braid and it had come undone in her tossing and turning.

Her pure white shift glowing faintly in the light of the streetlamps, her eyes blazing and wild with fear, her long golden hair streaming out behind her, she truly looked like, if not the Angel of music, at least something not of this world.

Christine ran around to the back of the Opera, as usual, the service entrance door was unlocked. Once in her dressing room, she turned to face the mirror. Floods of memories rushing back to her, she reached out and touched the cool surface of the mirror, remembering the last time she had done this as if it were yesterday. The mirror gave way, and Christine found herself gazing down the familiar corridor leading from it. She stifled the urge to reminisce and ran along the passageway.

Surprised at how well she remembered the path beneath the Opera Populaire, she soon found herself at the edge of the underground lake, the dock and rowboat before her. Knowing that she wouldn't float across as she had in her dream, Christine clambered into the boat and rowed for all she was worth to reach the other side.

After an eternity of frenzied rowing, the boat finally beached itself upon the opposite shore. Scrambling out of the boat, she searched for the wretched figure that was Erik. She couldn't see a damned thing through the gloom. Certain that every second wasted diminished Erik's time on Earth, she frantically began calling his name.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?"

She soon found him, not with her voice but with her eyes, lying unconscious upon the wet stone floor of the cavern, as she had last seen him in her dream.

She knelt beside his limp form, face down on the ground.

" Oh, Erik…" She breathed as she turned him onto his back. He was so thin. She could feel his sharp shoulder blades pressing into her hands. She cradled him as gently as she would a baby, his head pillowed in the crook of her arm, shoulders raised slightly above the ground.

"Erik? Erik, wake up, it's me, Christine. Wake up!" she crooned softly, urgently.

His eyes fluttered and he slowly brought her face into focus. "Christine…?"

"Yes, Erik. I'm here." She smiled, looking hopeful.

"You…came back?

"Yes."

"But…I let you go."

"I-I know, Erik," She fought back tears. "And I was wrong, so very wrong. But, I will never leave you, and I will always be here. I hurt you once, and I could never do so again."

What hope there had been in Erik's eyes died as he closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. "I'm dreaming. You torment me still."

"No! No, Erik! No." She cried, alarmed, "Here, see?" She took his hand in hers and held it to her cheek, letting him feel her presence. His hand was so cold. She clenched it tighter, trying to transfer some of her warmth to him. "See? I'm real."

"You are real!" He said in awe, but it soon turned to disappointment. "Christine, leave me. Go back to your Vicomte, the one you chose, the one you love." He choked on the last words and she could see tears forming in his golden eyes. "Leave me, I'm not worth it."

"Oh, Erik, don't talk like that. Raoul hurt me, and it made me realize how much I had hurt you. That, even though I was in pain, it couldn't be anywhere close to the pain I had put you through. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Yes, Christine, of course." She could tell the effort to remain lucid was draining his strength. "But, please, Christine," he said pitifully, "Please, don't leave me again. Hold me in your arms…as I die. That's all I want, more than I've ever wanted, more than I deserve. Please?" he pleaded.

"Yes, Erik." And a tear rolled down her cheek. She lifted Erik hand from her cheek and folded it across his chest.

She shifted him in her arms, bringing the right side of his face into focus. Although she knew what his face looked like, she still found herself reluctant to face the reality of his deformity again. She looked deeply at his face, and was delighted to find the scars fade before the love of his soul. Now that she was ready to recognize her love, his face was not as alarming as it had seemed that night; that night when she had been a fool, had been so stupid not to be able to realize that she had given him her heart for his voice and music before she had seen his face, and had blindly not seen past it.

She kept her word, and held him to her breast rocking him back and forth as his breathing slowed, and he fell into a sleep from which she fervently hoped he would awaken, if only to give her a chance to say goodbye.

She held him for a long time, but whether it was for a half hour or three she couldn't tell. As she sat there, the full implications of Erik's death hit her. If Erik died, she would have no one. Raoul would probably take her back, but after he had hurt her she could never go back, especially after realizing what she had lost in Erik.

She began to cry. She wept softly, in case she should disturb Erik, and silently the tears flowed down her face, dripping onto and ruining Erik's silk cravat. One of her tears fell onto Erik's face, causing him to awaken.

"Christine? You're still here?" he asked incredulously.

"I will never leave you, Erik. Never again."

"Thank you, Christne." He whispered.

"Erik, you should rest. You'll-you'll need your strength for when we leave."

"Leave?"

"I was hoping you would come live with me, Erik."

"Live with you?" He asked unbelieving, "You want me … to live with you? That you would want me to live with you, is more than I ever dreamed to hope for. But," the corners of his mouth tilted up slightly in a halfhearted attempt at humor, "I'm afraid I might not be able to accompany you out of this dungeon."

Christine asked the obvious question, hoping beyond hope that there was an answer other than the one she feared the most.

"Why not, Erik?" She asked quietly.

"Christine, look at me. Look at me and accept my fate, as I have. Continuing my life with you would be beyond a Heaven on Earth. But, I cannot, and I have come to grips with that. I cannot now save myself through will to live alone. When I let you go, I wanted to die. You, my salvation, came too late." This speech exhausted him, and what little colour he had drained from his face, making it stand out against the dark ground.

"I'm so sorry, Erik. It took me too long to realize my mistake. And all it did was hurt you more. I'm sorry." She whispered again.

"There is nothing to be done. To die in your arms would be wonderful beyond words. But, I am tired, Christine, and I was wondering if perhaps you could….." He looked a bit apprehensive.

"Anything, Erik. I would do anything for you. You need only to ask."

"Christine, would you sing me to sleep?" The look in his eyes was pleading.

His request brought a new wave of tears to Christine's eyes. "Of course, Erik. But on one condition." His eyes were closed, but he nodded. "You must promise me that once you fall asleep, you will let me say g-goodbye before…" She broke off, unable to speak the inevitable.

"Yes, Christine. I give you my word." Erik's word was golden.

"Thank you." And Christine sang for him. Managing to stifle the sobs, she sang the softest, sweetest, loveliest songs she knew, softly pouring her heart into every word she sang. Every phrase, every note she sang was just for him, because he was her world, he was her angel, and without him there could be no music for Christine.

She sang for hours. She sang until she was hoarse and could sing no longer. And when the notes refused to come, she simply held Erik close, gently rocking him, as silent sobs racked her body.

Not long after Christine stopped singing, Erik awoke.

"I kept my promise, Christine."

"Yes, thank you, Erik."

"And you kept yours. My dreams were filled with the voice of an angel. My angel of light."

"You are my Angel of Music, Erik. Two angels bound eternally.

"Not for long."

"Death cannot break those bonds, Erik"

His face contorted in pain. It was time.

"Please, Erik! Please don't leave me! I can't live without you! It took me so long to realize-" She paused, the reality dawning upon her that she had never before spoken the next words, "I love you, Erik."

At those words Erik's eyes filled with tears. "Never in my life has someone spoken those words to me. I have waited my entire life to hear them. Thank you, Christine."

Realization dawned upon Christine then. She had hurt Erik badly when she left, just as she had been when Raoul had treated their "love" in such a cavalier manner. Only by being hurt herself could Christine understand how badly she had treated Erik. But Christine's pain had been nothing compared to Erik's. Erik's life had been lonely and full of rejection. His own mother had flung his mask at him and fled before her only son. He had been shunned and scorned and tormented all his life, teaching himself through necessity not to let himself love another, for he would certainly get hurt. It had taken all his courage to come out of his shell and woo Christine. It must have taken an indescribable amount of trust for Erik to do so. Erik had pinned everything on her, his trust, his love. And how had she repaid him? Betrayal. Denial and betrayal.

"Oh, Erik. I'm so sorry. You gave me the greatest gift on earth, the gift of music. You were my Angel, my teacher, and this is how I've repaid you. I've as good as killed you."

"Christine, these last hours have been the happiest of my life." He reached a trembling hand up to caress her cheek. It was icy. "You came back, and that makes me the happiest man alive."

She brought her hand up to rest on his, "Goodbye, Erik."

And Erik quietly breathed his last, dying with her name upon his lips.

"I love you, my Angel of Music." She whispered, as she removed the ring from her finger and slipped the gold band around his, before folding his hands across his chest. Then she gently put her lips to his, and kissed him farewell. And even in death, Erik smiled.

Christine sang softly, her voice breaking, as she lowered his body to the ground. "You alone can make my song take flight. It's over now, the Music of the Night." On the last word she choked, and collapsed in tears upon Erik's body, and sobbed out her sorrows against his lifeless chest.

*Wishing you were somehow here again*

At last, when she had no more tears left to cry, she sat up and tried to regain her composure. It was then that she noticed that the gloomy cellar had become lighter. She looked about to find the source of the light, and located a faint glow coming from across the lake. It grew larger and brighter until it was almost upon her. Then Christine blacked out, and knew no more.

***********

When Christine awoke she was lying on the ground in the Cellars of the Paris Opera House. *_Erik's Opera House* _she thought sadly. Something stirred in her hand, and it was then that she noticed the warm, slight weight that had been there all along. Her fingers closed around it. It was a hand. Erik's hand? It had to be. That was the only rational possibility. But Erik's hands were always so cold, especially now that he was dead. However, the length and slenderness of his fingers were unmistakably his.

Deciding it must be a dream, she determined to enjoy it. Erik had already sat up, so she moved close to him, snuggling into his warm chest and resting her head upon his shoulder. She knew she must be dreaming, and yet… His touch felt so real as he wrapped his arms protectively about her. Was he really dead? What was happening? She turned her head to look upon his face, and screamed.

***********

Erik awoke slowly letting consciousness wash over him. His first sensation was that he was no longer cold. But why had he been so cold in the first place? Memory came rushing back to him. He had died. Died of a broken heart, wasting away in his pining for Christine.

He sat up slowly, knowing that whatever had happened, to do so quickly would be painful. It worked, and left him with only a slight throbbing sensation as he viewed his surroundings. He was in the cellars of the Opera Populaire; he could see the underground lake a few yards away. Christine was stirring a few feet from him; his hand still lay in hers.

Was this Hell? It could not be Heaven; he had done too many wicked things in his lifetime to be accepted by Saint Peter at the pearly gates. God had made it clear from the moment he was born that he did not belong in Heaven. Yet Christine was here. That was heaven, wasn't it? Perhaps it was his own form or Hell. Christine would return to him, then leave him; return to him, then leave him, Over and over again for all eternity.

Christine snuggled up to him and put his arms around her, Whether this was Heaven or Hell, simply holding her in his arms was enough for now.

Everything changed when she looked at his face. Everything always did. She had seen it before, three times, in fact, and even her first reaction had not been like this. She screamed and recoiled, as so many others had done before her. But her shriek was different than all those. It ripped at him, and the pain returned, the pain of his heart beginning to break a second time.

He had been such a fool. She had betrayed him already, so why had she chosen so believe the words she had spoken to him earlier, those words of love and devotion. He would never be anything but a monster in her eyes. Just as his voice could make her forget his face, so too could his face make her forget the beauty of his voice, the depth of his love, and the gift of music, which he had given her in exchange for nothing other than the joy of hearing her sing.

He shrank away from her, putting his arm up to conceal his deformed face.

"My mask!" He gasped, his voice hoarse with pain and despair.

Had he continued to watch Christine, he might have been surprised at the play of emotions across her face. The first Erik had seen, the look of fright and terror. The second was of confusion, after he had spoken of his mask. Suddenly came realization as comprehension dawned.

She came to him tentatively, unsure of herself. "Erik?" She said, and gently lifted his arm.

The expression upon her face was the last Erik could have expected as he reluctantly met her gaze. Her look was that of pure, unbridled joy.

"Oh, Erik!" She whispered in awe.

She took the hand of the arm he had used to shield his deformity and pressed it to his right cheek, the deformed one. His eyes grew wide as he felt what lay beneath his palm. Where there should have been scarred mutilation lay only smooth, unmarred flesh. He ran his hand along the rest of his face, hardly daring to breath. It was the same everywhere; his nose, his mouth, his eyes, were all completely normal.

"No!" He breathed, hardly daring to hope that what he felt was real.

"Yes!" Cried Christine, a smile spreading over her beautiful face.

*This repulsive carcass,*

Who seems a beast,

But secretly,

Dreams of beauty,

Secretly,

Secretly.

They rose together, the smile on Erik's face mirroring the one on Christine's.

"My Angel," She said quietly, but decisively.

Laughing aloud in pure joy such as he had never felt before, he took the ring from his finger and slipped it onto Christine's finger. And their lips met in a passion that could only come from such a combination of elation and love as they both felt.

Ending their kiss, they both spread their wings and flew away, rising through the ceiling, above the roof of the Opera and into the star spangled heavens, where they wandered forever, eternally lost in each other's eyes.


End file.
